


I'm Someone You Maybe Might Love

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Jungkook and Sungjin are brothers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, long-term pining, secret crushes, sungpil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-05-31 17:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: For all of Wonpil’s life, Sungjin has been his bestfriend Jungkook’s annoying older brother who had nothing for him but lame jokes and jabs at his piano-playing, his thick glasses--but when he comes home for the holidays, he and Sungjin see each other for the first time in years and it occurs to Wonpil that maybe he’d been chasing after the wrong brother all his life.Or the one where Sungjin is Jungkook’s older brother and Wonpil is Jungkook’s bestfriend who finally realizes after more than ten years that maybe Sungjin’s been annoying him his whole life for a reason.





	1. Be Your Quiet Crazy Afternoon Crush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eloveated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloveated/gifts), [burgerbunnyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burgerbunnyk/gifts).



> Lots of people requested this on Twitter. xD 
> 
> Also JJK. I have feelings for JJK too. So. Anyway. As for why Jungkook is Sungjin's brother, it's because they often get put in those look-a-like list things and they're both coincidentally from Busan. See this for reference:  
> 1\. https://img.kpopmap.com/wp-content/uploads_kpopmap/2017/02/kpop-idol-doppelganger-bts-jungkook-day6-sungjin.jpg  
> 2\. https://pm1.narvii.com/6548/32c82318c871450490bba07c782463c336eda2d3_hq.jpg
> 
> Don’t forget to vote for Day6 on the music shows if you can :D There’s a tutorial here: https://goo.gl/ZA91ut
> 
> CC/Twt: @teenuviel1227

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kim Wonpil comes home for the holidays for the first time in six years.

“Well, well, look what the cat finally dragged in.” Wonpil feels himself grin as Jungkook pushes the door to their split-level house open and pulls him through the doorway, scooping him up into a big hug. “You idiot, I can’t believe you didn’t come home for six damn years--”

“--Christ. Lay off the gym will you, it’s like being hugged by a tractor.” Wonpil slaps Jungkook’s chest in a gesture of surrender and Jungkook finally puts him down. “But a tractor you’re really glad to see--an old one that’s helped haul you through the shit, you know?”

Jungkook grins, leading the way into the house, slinging an arm around Wonpil’s shoulders.

“I know. I missed you, Pirrie.”

“Missed you too, Kook. Are the Mr. Park-Jeons home?”

Jungkook nods, gestures to the couch. “You know what, just sit here. There’s food under the coffee table in those tupperware snack things. I’ll go call--everyone--”

“Sure.”

With that, Jungkook bounds up the stairs, his footsteps heavy as he yells _Wonpil’s here!_ , his voice echoing through the hallway above.

Wonpil sinks into the old, worn couch, grins, taking in the house that he’d spent so much of his childhood and adolescence in--in a lot of ways, the Park-Jeon residence is the same: still all of those football trophies sitting on the table by the far wall from all of Jungkook’s athletic victories throughout both highschool and college, all of the framed certificates of recognition framed and hung up behind them from all of Sungjin’s academic achievements. On the floor are some more academic plaques, more minor league trophies that couldn’t fit on the main display.

Wonpil's gaze lands on the upright piano and he makes for it on instinct.

On the piano are photographs of the entire family: Mrs. Jeon standing proud outside a large auditorium in Stanford with Sungjin on the day of his graduation, Mr. Jeon and Mr. Park with their arms around Jungkook on his last championship day at Seoul National, Jungkook still in his Jersey, one photo of all five of them on Christmas, wearing Christmas sweaters--in the photograph, they’re all beaming at the camera, except Sungjin, who’s glowering in a Santa-patterned jumper as he lifts a new scientific calculator up and out of its sparkly purple wrapping. Wonpil grins as he spots a smaller frame shaped like a sun with the middle cut out in which sits a photo of him and Jungkook during their high school graduation: both of them wearing matching togas in the school colors, him with braces and coke-bottle frames, Jungkook handsome even then albeit a bit more pimply, skinnier.

Wonpil smiles. The Park-Jeons are his favorite family in the world--sometimes even more so than his own: where the Kims could sometimes be old-fashioned, could sometimes be a little bit uptight, the Park-Jeons were always kind, always accepting, always easy with laughter and cautious with anger.

Mr. Park, Sungjin’s dad, had come out as gay when Sungjin was two years old and he and Mrs. Jeon had stayed best friends despite the divorce--he’d stayed with them even when she remarried Mr. Jeon and had Jungkook, had been like a second father to him in the same way that Mr. Jeon had been to Sungjin. They were always a warm family as competitive and combative as they could be: always jabbing at each other, but also always lifting each other up--Mr. Park is a Professor of Philosophy at Seoul National, Mr. Jeon a sportscaster for KBS, and Mrs. Jeon was a psychologist who worked at the Samsung hospital in Gangnam.

_Was._

Wonpil feels his heart lurch at the thought of her--because although the house is still on the same plot of land, has the same furnishings, although there’s still that familiar smell of soy sauce and sugar cooking clinging to everything: slightly sweet and very salty, there’s no old 70s music playing in the background, no sweet voice calling for them to come into the kitchen and taste what she’s cooking. Wonpil feels a stab of guilt to think that he hadn’t come home sooner, hadn’t gotten his ass on a plane eight months ago right when he’d gotten the collect call from Mr. Park--Jungkook had been in a fit of tears and unable to come to the phone--that their mom had been rushed to the hospital, had had a stroke while she was at work.

Wonpil smiles sadly, feels tears well up in his eyes--when he’d first come out to his family, Mrs. Jeon was the one who’d helped him out, had let him crash on their couch, had talked to his parents, had helped put him back together.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thinks, tracing the photo of her in its frame. _Thank you for everything._

Wonpil’s gaze lands on the last frame on top of the piano: it’s a photo of them on prom night (they’d all gone stag, although he’d hoped up until the last minute that maybe Jungkook would ask him out)--Sungjin in dark, classic-cut navy, holding a peace sign above Wonpil’s head, Wonpil in a black pinstripe suit, smiling with his braces, the flash bouncing off his glasses and blurring out his eyes, Jungkook looking dapper in a black tux. Wonpil grins, remembering how that night had tipped him into a kind of existential crisis--how he’d gotten drunk at the after party and Jungkook had carried him home, had taken care of him, giving him water and talking him down despite the fact that he’d talked about how no one loved him, how he would amount to _nothing absolutely nothing,_ how that had been the start of what would eventually be a pointless three-year-spiral of being stupidly in love with his bestfriend, also the reason he’d avoided coming home for so long: he needed space, needed a new environment.

_At least that’s over._

Wonpil peers closer at the photograph, shakes his head a little bit as he notices that Sungjin isn’t just giving him devil horns, his mouth is also half-open and Wonpil can hear him chanting _Pirrie! Mirrie!_ even now. He shudders at the thought of Sungjin.

 _Thank god he’s not here._ If there’s one thing about the Park-Jeons that he’s slightly fearful of it’s Sungjin and his teasing: intense, intelligent, student body president, everyone’s-favorite-scholar Sungjin who had wit like a whip and somehow always seemed to regress to being in second grade when it came to Wonpil--for as long as Wonpil can remember, Sungjin’s teased him, made fun of his glasses, his braces, calling him Pirrie Mirrie (a childish, arbitrary nickname that for some reason stuck to him like glue), calling him Josh Groban Kim whenever he sang or played the piano during that unfortunate period in time when he’d gotten a perm. _If he were here he’d say--_

“--oy, Pirrie Mirrie,” Sungjin’s voice cuts into his thoughts.

Wonpil whirls around in panic, his heart jumping into his throat.

“Yah! What is it this time? I wasn’t even talking to you!” His angry reply is instinctive.

“Harsh.”

A hand goes to Wonpil’s mouth as he realizes he’s behaved exactly the same way he would’ve all those years ago--but the man standing in front of him isn’t _quite_ the Park Sungjin he remembers. For one thing, he’s smiling in a way that’s almost fond, his dark hair flopping just-right into his eyes. For one thing, he’s taller, broader than Wonpil remembers and drop-dead gorgeous in a cream sweater worn over a crisp white shirt.

“Well, the punchline has to match the joke.” Wonpil kicks himself internally, wondering why he’s still being so mean, why his mouth won’t stop letting him down.

To Wonpil’s surprise, Sungjin bursts out laughing and claps him on the shoulder.

“You’re still an idiot. Welcome home, Josh Groban Kim. Help me set the table.”

  


“So,” Mr. Park is saying over dinner, passing Jungkook the kimbap but keeping his gaze on Wonpil from over the edge of his glasses. “Tell us about San Francisco, Pirrie. You dating anyone over there? Or are you still going to take one of my sons off my hands?”

“AppaBear!” Jungkook exclaims, his cheeks turning red. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that, it’s embarrassing--”

“--ah, you’re too defensive,” Mr. Jeon says, waving a hand at him. “And who knows, maybe we meant Sungjin--”

Sungjin, who’d been quietly, neatly mixing his serving of kimchi in with his rice, chokes on his own spit.

“--AppaBunny, please--”

“--no, I’m not seeing anyone,” Wonpil says, trying to keep the mood sunny, light. “And I’m sorry but I think both of your sons are straight. If I were to take one though, I’d definitely take Jungkook. He does a mean job of taking care of someone passed out and drunk on prom night and that’s a useful talent anywhere in the world.”

Silence comes over the table.

Everyone turns to look at Sungjin.

Sungjin looks up at them, a grimace coming over his face. “Oh don’t look at me like that.”

Wonpil blinks, confused.

“Sorry, did I miss something?”

Mr. Jeon bursts out laughing.

“Oh, Pirrie Mirrie. Are you talking about prom night? When you got wasted and were doing your woe is me number on our lawn?”

Wonpil nods slowly. “Yeah--”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, spraying a good helping of Soju onto his plate.

“--you’re disgusting,” Sungjin says pointedly. “And if you say any more, I’ll kill you--”

“--but hyungggg,” Jungkook says, unable to control his laughter. “He thinks--I mean--”

“--what’s going on?” Wonpil asks, his tone impatient now, voice pitching high.

“That wasn’t Jungkook who took care of you, Pirrie Mirrie,” Mr. Park says, calmly spooning a sliver of Mandu sat atop a mound of rice into his mouth. “That was Sungjin.”

Wonpil feels his cheeks turn red, trying to replay everything from that night: the tender touch, the soft voice, the advice about life. _No. No, no, no._

“But--but he--”

“--he took care of you,” Jungkook says, nodding. “I was passed out at Brian’s until 6:00 AM then when you were asleep hyung picked me up and brought _me_ home.”

Sungjin stands up, puts his cutlery down.

“--yeah, yeah,” Sungjin says, his voice curt but tender, some embarrassment in the softness of his tone. “Anyway, now that we’re talking about which son our dads want to pimp out to you, does anyone want more beer?”

“Me, hyung,” Jungkook says, wiping Soju off his shirt.

Sungjin sighs. “I should buy you a bib for Christmas.”

He looks at Wonpil.

“Pil?”

_He didn’t call me Pirrie Mirrie._

Wonpil blinks, suddenly shy, suddenly unsure what to say, his heart suddenly thudding all too loud in his chest.

“Sure,” he says, hoping he isn’t blushing. “A beer would be great.”

  


“Pirrie Pirrie Mirrie,” Jungkook sings absentmindedly as they walk the road to the Kim house, three blocks down. “Pirrie Mirrie Mirrie. Mirrie Pirrie Mirrie. Hyung should’ve been a composer.”

Wonpil snorts, still feels his cheek warm at the mention of Sungjin.

“Yeah right.”

“You have to admit,” Jungkook says, grinning. “It’s pretty catchy. I mean--it stuck. Just because you’re Mr. Renowned Pianist now, doesn’t mean you can shit on a good, homegrown melody.”

Wonpil laughs. “Maybe Sungjin can be a rapper. I’ll play Beethoven and he can bring the chops.

Jungkook glances at Wonpil.

“Tell me the truth, though, is it good to be back home? We’re not all just imposing on you, are we?”

Wonpil sighs, kicking a stone into the gutter. “Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to? Of course not. I was due for a visit anyway--”

“--damn right,” Jungkook says. “Six years is six years too long. Do you know how hard it is to find someone in all of Incheon who’s willing to watch anime with you 24/7?”

“Kookie,” Wonpil says, watching his bestfriend’s profile in the moonlight--that strong jaw, that manly build he’d admired, desired, loved so much when they were younger, now seeming so childlike all these years later. A boy hiding in a man’s body. Sometimes Wonpil forgets that Jungkook is three years younger than him, forgets because of how good he is at everything that he was accelerated in school, that underneath all of the burliness, he’s so much younger than Wonpil. “I’m not sure if it’s my place to ask you this--but why are you still here? I mean. I know you wanted to take care of your mom when she was sick but now--”

“--don’t do that,” Jungkook says, his voice trembling like he’s on the verge of tears. “I want to stay here and so I’ll stay here. Someone needs to take care of the Appas. They keep saying that they’ll move back to Busan once I move to Seoul and I don’t want that to happen--they’ll be too far--”

“--okay,” Wonpil says, knowing when he’s lost an argument. “Okay, then. I’m sorry. I was just curious is all.”

Jungkook picks up a stray piece of scrap metal and throws it into one of the open garbage bins, a loud noise ringing in the night.

“He shoots--he scores!”

Wonpil grins. “Michael Jordan Jeon strikes again.”

“You’re coming with us to visit her grave tomorrow though right?”

“Of course,” Wonpil says. “I came home to pay my respects. She deserves one more Kim Wonpil Special Christmas gift--or ten billion of them.”

“Good,” Jungkook nods. “The funeral felt wrong without you.”

Wonpil leans over to pat Jungkook on the shoulder.

“You sentimental lump of raw muscle.”

They walk for a moment in silence, just listening to their footsteps on the cement, the crunching of leaves and gravel under their shoes. It’s Jungkook who breaks the silence as they round the corner.

“I’m okay with it, though, Pirrie.”

“With what?”

“Being the one who stays with the Appas. Hyung--he doesn’t belong here. He’s like you, you know. He’s the kind of guy who’s better off somewhere less...cloistered.”

“Is he moving back to New York after the holidays?”

Jungkook shrugs. “He says he wants to stay but I’d give it ‘til the end of the year.”

Wonpil frowns. For as long as he can remember, Sungjin had been talking about getting _out_ , about making his dreams come true, pursuing things that were more than himself: of course, Wonpil heard things from _his_ Mom about everyone’s golden boy--California and then Boston and then New York, making a splash everywhere.

“Why does he say he wants to stay?”

Jungkook chews on his lower lip which Wonpil knows to take as hesitation, as being unsure whether or not he should say something.

“Well,” Jungkook says slowly. “He was engaged--and now he’s not. But he’s not married either.”

“Oh,” Wonpil says softly, suddenly sorry for how he’d reacted at dinner. “That’s terrible. I hope he’s okay.”

“He acts tough but I know it was hard on him. We met the guy too and he was really cool. We had the plane tickets booked and everything. He says that it’s probably for the best because of what happened to Eomma but it’s still terrible.”

“Ah,” Wonpil says, Jungkook’s words finally making sense. _He should be somewhere less cloistered._ “I hope he’s okay.”

Jungkook grins at that. “So what _do_ you think of him?”

“I don’t,” Wonpil says, swatting at Jungkook’s arm. “I--he’s just--he’s your _brother--_ ”

“--I know,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes. “But he’s not _your_ brother so what's the problem?”

“Jungkook?” Wonpil asks as they walk up the Kims’ driveway.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter soon. Hehe get ready to fall in love.


	2. Be Your Violent Overnight Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we throw it back to prom night and Wonpil brings Mrs. Jeon flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twt/CC: @teenuviel1227

“Get up--yah, come on,” Sungjin said, putting his hands in his pocket, looking down at Wonpil who was lying flat on his back, spread-eagle on the lawn. He nudged Wonpil’s leg with a foot but Wonpil just let out a peal of laughter: long and reverberating, his head thrown back, his glasses sliding down his nose and onto the grass. “Pirrie Mirrie--”

“--why do you always call me that?” Wonpil pulled a chunk of grass out of the dirt, flung it at Sungjin.

Sungjin laughed a small, warm laugh. Normally, he would rather die before being tender, would rather keel over and eat the dirt than be affectionate but it’s late and his parents are sleeping and Jungkook is over at Brian’s hanging out with the other kids--and it’s just him and Wonpil and the just-watered lawn, the moonlight shining down on them like liquid silver, prom music still playing in his head, so he lets his guard down.

“It’s cute,” Sungjin said.

“Hah!” Wonpil replied, kicking off his shoes.

“Jesus,” Sungjin went to pick them up. “Are you happy now? You’ve liberated your feet and there’s a hole in the toe, are you good? Can we go inside?”

Wonpil shook his head. “No. No no no no no! I’m not done sulking.”

Sungjin sighed, reached his free hand down for Wonpil to grab onto.

“How about we just get you off of this stupid wet grass and then you can go sulk for however long you want.”

“This is wet?” Wonpil asked, putting his hands up to his face and touching his cheeks. “Oh no it’s wet--”

“--yeah that’s what happens when you run into the field of a sprinkler and try to swim on the lawn. Now, come on.”

Reluctantly, Wonpil took Sungjin’s hand--Sungjin felt his heart skip a beat: Wonpil’s hand was soft, delicate in his. He pulled Wonpil to his feet, was about to let go and open the front door when Wonpil collapsed onto him, Sungjin catching him just in time. Arm looping around his waist, Wonpil’s cheek warm against his, a hand clinging onto his for dear life.

“I’m so tired,” Wonpil said, sighing. “Tired of the world. Tired of this town. I wanna get out. Out! Out! Out!”

“Just another year,” Sungjin said, helping Wonpil up onto the front steps. He glanced up, saw his dad--AppaBear--looking out from the blinds of his room.

“You okay out there?”

“Fine,” Sungjin said, flashing a thumbs up. “I’ll just dump this drunkard in Jungkook’s bed and then go get the other drunkard.”

“Alright. Let me know when you’re back.”

“Yes, Appa.”

With that, Sungjin opened the door, hauled Wonpil across the threshold and sat him down on the couch, his heart pounding as he carefully helped Wonpil out of his suit jacket.

“Come on. You’re going to sleep in Jungkook’s room--”

“--I don’t wanna sleep,” Wonpil said, frowning. “You said we could sulk.”

Sungjin sighed, plopping down onto the couch. “Fine. Let’s sulk. What do you want to be sulky about?”

“Well,” Wonpil said, moving so that his head was resting in Sungjin’s lap. “First, there’s the fact that the only person I’ve really had a crush on is my bestfriend and he’s super straight. Plus he’s definitely getting more popular. Everyone likes him and eventually he’ll realize that those people are cooler to hang out with than me. And I’ll just be. The bestfriend. The gay and brace-faced with huge-ass glasses bestfriend who’ll end up all fucking alone.”

Sungjin smiled despite himself, his heart aching--he knows how it feels, knows how people react to those things, knows how wanting to find someone but not having any people to talk to is feels like.

“That’s not true.”

“Can you stroke my hair? It makes me feel better.” Wonpil reached for Sungjin’s hand, put it on his forehead.

Sungjin didn’t respond, just did as he was told, smiling at the way that the crease between Wonpil’s eyebrows eased at his touch.

“Well. Your glasses are caked in mud. So I don’t think you can wear them anytime soon. That’s minus one on your list of things you’ll be.”

“I’m never going to get anywhere in li--”

“--not thinking like that you won’t,” Sungjin interjected, his voice a little louder than he’d intended. “Look, thinking positive is half the battle won. I know it’s hard, but it’s hard for everyone. If you let that get to you then you’re never going to get anywhere. You’re always going to be bogged down or sad. The best way to finish things is to stew in them, to plow through them. You can do it. You’ll get into college, you’ll fly away from here, you’ll find the love of your life. You have to trust it’ll happen because you’ll make it happen. It’s like Simba in The Lion King. Remember who you are--”

“--I’m Kim Wonpil,” Wonpil exclaimed, nodding vigorously, a wide smile on his lips. “And I love you.”

“You’re drunk,” Sungjin said, flicking him softly on the forehead.

Wonpil let out a small laugh. “You won’t treat me any different for telling you how I feel about you, will you, Kookie?”

Sungjin felt a surge of jealousy and a subsequent pang of guilt--although it wasn’t anything new, although he’s always sort of known from the way that Wonpil looked at Jungkook, followed him everywhere. Nonetheless, it still stung a bit, the same way pouring alcohol into a wound you know is there is still painful albeit less surprising--because in Sungjin’s mind, Kim Wonpil was the prettiest, most beautiful man that he’d ever laid eyes on: since Wonpil and Jungkook were in third grade and Sungjin in the fourth, he’s had the biggest crush on him, always looked forward to whenever he was around.

There was something about Wonpil’s bright smile, his big, beautiful eyes and those irresistible smile lines that showed up at their corners whenever he was genuinely happy. And more than just looking good, Wonpil was unlike anyone that Sungjin had ever met: really handsome but seeming to have no clue that he was, extremely intelligent but having zero ego, fierce and competitive but also overwhelmingly sweet and affectionate. Despite the fact that Sungjin made his life a living hell every time he came over, Wonpil always brought him The Kim Wonpil Special or a small flower arrangement and cupcake with a single candle on his birthday. He didn’t help him blow it out, of course--he just always gave it to Jungkook to give to him. But for Sungjin, that was enough. Or at least, infinitely better than nothing. He made Sungjin feel weightless, illuminated.

“Of course not,” Sungjin said softly. He smiled, watching as Wonpil’s eyes fluttered closed. “Now just go to sleep, alright?”

“Do you think that you could ever love me back? Or that anyone could ever love me back?” Wonpil leaned against Sungjin, burying his face in the softness of Sungjin’s polo. “I really wish you’d taken me out tonight.”

“Pil, see--well, I know I’m not who you want me to be, but I really like you. I mean I’ve liked you since we were kids but not like you can really ask your brother’s bestfriend out on a date when you’re ten years old right? So anyway. You’re so damn lovable. I--I mean. I’ve been in love with you forever so I should know, Pirrie Mirrie. I should know. And I thought Kook would be mad if I asked you. I should’ve. Not that you’d say yes.”

Sungjin looked at Wonpil. He was fast asleep, a drivel of saliva peeking from the corner of his mouth, his lips slightly parted. Sungjin smiled, shook his head. _What was I thinking?_ Softly, he got up, replacing himself with a pillow before taking the car keys from the keyring by the door and heading out to pick Jungkook up a couple of blocks away.

 

  
“Hello, Eomma,” Wonpil says softly as he, Jungkook, Sungjin and the Mr. Park-Jeons stand on the soft green grass of Mrs. Jeon’s grave. The day is overcast but pleasantly bright, a soft breeze coming in through the cemetery, ruffling the trees, the grass as if in response. “I”m sorry I couldn’t come sooner but I’m here now. I know you weren’t my mom but I love and treasure how you always let me call you that. I know you know how much you helped me, how much you helped put me and my family back together but I want to say it anyway. And I need you to know that you brought such a big family together--in a way you raised all of us and I love you so much.”

Jungkook pats Wonpil's back as Wonpil wipes the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Merry Christmas. Here’s the last Kim Wonpil Special--I hope you don’t mind that I did away with the cake this time.” Softly, Wonpil puts the flowers down on the grass. They’re white roses held together with a royal blue ribbon, the petals bright against the gray of the stone.

All of them had said their holiday greetings--some of them more quietly than others, Sungjin choosing to stand in silence for a good five minutes, Jungkook choosing to sing a song, the Appas reciting their favorite poems that reminded them of her. Now, Wonpil gets up, tries to smile.

“She loved you so much,” Mr. Jeon says, squeezing his hand. “Like her own son.”

“I know,” Wonpil nods. “I know.”

“Should we head back? Have lunch?”

“Yasssss,” Jungkook says, stretching. “I’m starving.”

With that, they start to head back to the car, but Wonpil hangs back, the laces on his loafers coming undone. He motions at everyone to go ahead but when he’s done tying his laces, he straightens up to see Sungjin waiting for him, looking dapper in a blue button-down rolled up at the sleeves, half-tucked into a good pair of denim jeans.

“You okay?”

Sungjin nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine,” Wonpil says, smiling. “Where are we eating? Did the Appas say anything?”

“How about coffee?” Sungjin asks, nudging Wonpil a little as he walks ahead.

“What?”

Sungjin looks back, grinning.

“Coffee with me. Maybe after this whole lunch thing? Around four in the afternoon? I can pick you up.”

Wonpil blinks, caught off-guard at the way the wind ruffles through Sungjin’s dark hair, the way the sun kisses his cheeks--almost like Mrs. Jeon herself was moving through the trees, the grass, the air. _Look after my boy._ Wonpil feels his face heat up, finds himself grinning despite wanting very, very desperately not to.

“Yeah, okay. That works.”


	3. In Your Car, The Radio Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee and Christmas and lots and lots of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading; I’m going through a tough time and appreciate it.
> 
> I used this as reference for the part where they’re singing in the car - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0syEvDYn5XI
> 
> Norah Jones’ version of Baby, It’s Cold Outside: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_-XMZjWGF4
> 
> Twt/CC- @teenuviel1227

Wonpil isn’t quite sure what he’d expected but he’s sure that it wasn’t this--because hanging out with Park Sungjin is _fun_ , hanging out with Park Sungjin is exhilarating and comfortable in the strangest of ways: familiar but unexpected, an old song in a new city. They’re at a cafe downtown, around a half hour drive from their neighborhood. It’s dressed up to resemble the countryside with the inside painted the color of a bright summer sky, the chairs and tables made of restored vintage ironwork, the teacups ornate and worn. Wonpil is sipping from his Vanilla Latte, watching Sungjin tell him about New York, about something ridiculous that his workmate did and he’s still unable to believe how easy it’s been, how calming, how--for lack of a better word--romantic.

The ride over was pleasant, Sungjin picking him up and then tossing him the small remote for the stereo so he could hook the Bluetooth up to his phone as soon as he slid into the passenger seat. _DJ Kim Wonpirrie._ Wonpil had been unsure what to play but settled on an old, feel-good track by Bleachers to be safe--he veered away from anything piano-driven just in case Sungjin was hiding a Josh Groban Kim joke up his sleeve.

The music started and they pulled away from the Kim house, out onto the main road, the winter landscape slipping past them like the light running through a film: out on the sidewalk, someone shoveling snow, lovers holding hands through their thick winter gloves, a family rushing into a van parked on the shoulder lane. Wonpil found himself singing along softly, smiling at the way that Sungjin’s fingers tap-tap-tapped on the steering wheel, finding himself amused at the way that there was a small bunny-shaped plushie keychain swinging from the rearview mirror.

 _The pain of waiting alone at the corner_ _  
_ _Trying to get myself back home_

By the time they get to the riff, Sungjin is singing along too and his voice makes Wonpil’s heart skip: somehow he’d forgotten that Sungjin liked to sing, was good at it, his voice so different from Jungkook’s softer, meeker tone that Wonpil was more used to hearing. Sungjin’s voice is rough, deep, but also wide--soaring on the high notes, swooping low as the melody shifted. Wonpil grins as Sungjin takes the melody line right as Wonpil takes the falsetto.

  
_I gotta get myself back home soon_   
_I gotta get myself back home soon_

_I guess it's true_   
_The only reason that I called you last night_   
_Is the reason I been standing on a wire_ _  
_ It's this dream I keep having where I'm begging

_Just to give myself a break_

When they get to the cafe, Wonpil’s surprised Sungjin remembers what he likes to drink--something Sungjin always made fun of him for back in highschool: more milk and sugar than coffee, he’d joke whenever he, Jungkook, and Wonpil went to a cafe to study, but today he orders it matter-of-fact, says _Vanilla Latte_ with no trace of sarcasm, is careful with the snowflake design on the latte as he carefully brings their tray over from the counter to their table. Wonpil picks out a spot by the window, the pale sunlight coming in just right, the seats padded with blue-and-white patterned cushions.

And the rest is talk: about life in New York, San Francisco, about how the holidays are going, about music they’re listening to, about different books they’d read on the plane. And the rest is now--now, Sungjin is asking him a question and Wonpil finds himself telling the truth.

“Are you staying?” Sungjin asks, taking a careful sip from his cup of brewed coffee but holding Wonpil’s gaze. “After the holidays, I mean?”

Wonpil grins. “Are you?”

“I might. Even dust has to settle sometime.” Sungjin shrugs--the look is quick but Wonpil sees it pass over his face like a shadow: a little flicker of sadness. “It can get tiring out there. Big city, you know how it goes.”

Wonpil puts his cup down, reaches across the table and flicks Sungjin on the forehead.

Sungjin looks up in shock, eyes wide.

Before he can come up with a retort, Wonpil breaks the silence.

“You’re not dust, though.”

  


The weeks pass in relative quiet, but the good kind like that space in the morning between waking and getting out of bed: Wonpil spends most of the days at the Park-Jeons, playing video games with Jungkook, goes out with Sungjin a couple of times more--drinks at the pub, an afternoon walk in the park, going out to buy different vinyl records to gift to loved ones. Each time, it’s quiet and playful and surprisingly soft, both of them marvelling at how different and comfortable all of it feels. Sungjin wonders if this could be something, the question he’s put everything in his life to for as long as he can remember: is it a sign or a test? When Wonpil looks at him, he feels like the only person in the room. When Wonpil laughs, he feels a little part of himself light up.

But Sungjin is cautious too.

Sungjin has been wrong before.

Wonpil feels like he’s been fitted with new glasses after years of being blind. He finds himself thinking back to prom night, finds himself re-writing his memories that had for so long starred Jungkook as his savior from drunkenness and slipping Sungjin into the puzzle to find that he fits, that the picture finally looks right when he hadn’t even known that it was wrong to begin with. He finds himself almost unable to take his eyes off of Sungjin: those big, almond eyes framed by the thickest lashes, his smile rare but precious like a rainbow in the summer, his subtle ways of being kind quiet but making their mark--he takes care to remember that Wonpil doesn’t drink beer, only cocktails, that he forgets to bring pocket warmers 99.9% of the time, that he likes Jamie Cullum (Sungjin buys the vinyl, scribbles _Jamie Cullum Kim_ onto it with marker before slipping it into Wonpil’s paper bag for him to discover later on).

Time slips by like melted ice skidding down a glass of vodka greedily drunk with a thirst looking for more than water--and before they know it it’s Christmas Eve.

The night is a huge affair--the Kims come over to the Park-Jeons and it’s absolute mania: Wonpil’s mom and older sister are with Mr. Park, mixing cocktails for the evening’s shenanigans while Mr. Jeon, Jungkook and Wonpil are seeing to the food, a good variety of eastern and western dishes. The entire dining table is littered with bowls heaped with fried chicken, plates loaded with different types of jeon, two boxes of pizza, a large casserole of kimchi soup, a giant tupperware of mashed potatoes, a pitcher of gravy. Mr. Kim and Sungjin are getting the indoor grill ready for the samgyeupsal, Sungjin taking care of the butane and Mr. Kim setting up the oil deposit, the bowls of garlic with which to season the meat. The boombox is playing Christmas carol instrumentals on full blast in the background, the Christmas lights blink slow but sure in turns of red and green.

“Damn,” Wonpil’s older sister says, frowning as she holds the freezer door open. “We don’t have any ice.”

“What?” Mr. Park asks. “That’s impossible, I asked Jungkook--god, this kid--”

“Wonpil--,” Mrs. Kim says, nodding toward the living room. "Get my wallet--"

“--no, I’ll ask Jungkook, it was his resp--” Mr. Park begins.

“--somehow I don’t trust him to drive in this weather,” Wonpil’s older sister says, glancing outside at the storm swirling as though they’re inside a snow globe left at the clutches of a six-year-old high on candy. “Maybe you should ask Sungjin.”

“Ask me what?” Sungjin asks, walking into the kitchen with garlic peelings that he tosses into the trash.

“If you could go buy ice,” Mrs. Kim says, already reaching for her wallet.

“Of course,” Sungjin says. “And don’t worry, Mrs. Kim. The ice is on me--”

Mrs. Kim grins. “--always a gentleman--”

“--be careful out there, okay?” Mr. Park says sternly. “The snow is crazy. You should bring one of the shovels just in case--”

“--I’ll be fine, AppaBear. Even if I shovel, no one’ll be there to rev the engine so I might as well--”

“--I can go with you,” Wonpil pipes up, setting some newly cooked sweet potatoes down onto a cooling rack. “Of course I’ll rev the car and _you_ shovel.”

Sungjin grins. “Alright.”

“What’s happening? Who’s going where?” Jungkook asks, barreling into the kitchen.

“We’re going to buy ice,” Wonpil says quickly, grabbing his coat off a chair and pulling on the sleeve of Sungjin’s sweater, giving him only time to get his coat off the rack before they’re out, the front door slamming behind them.   


 

“Fuck,” Sungjin says as he swerves, the front tire slumping onto the sidewalk, just making it onto the embankment as the rest of the cars pile into the mountain of snow, one car hitting the other in a string of collisions. “Can you get out on that side?”

Wonpil frowns, tries the door, but it’s jammed against the pile of snow solidified into a mound of ice around a hydrant. It moves a bit then jams--and then he pulls it shut, realizing that once what little snow that gets into the car melts, then they’ll be in _real_ trouble.

“Nope. You? Maybe we can shovel?”

They’re trapped in one of the byroads, an alternate route that the GPS had suggested because the main was blocked off with heavy snow. The store is a block and a half away and both of them think of walking but the car is stuck and the snow is piled too high on both sides--plus neither of them find the thought of hauling bags of ice back to the car in this weather. The CD switches tracks, Norah Jones’ rendition of _Baby It’s Cold Outside_ coming on.

Sungjin smiles despite himself. He reaches into the back seat, pulls out a blanket he has on reserve for family road trips and tosses it to Wonpil.

“I guess we’re stuck.”

“Yeah,” Wonpil says, cheeks flushed, notably pink against the white fluff of his sweater. “I guess we are.


	4. Make You Crazy Over My Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty questions.

“Well,” Wonpil says, digging into the front pocket of his coat. He pulls out some odd items: “I have some candy--and I think some peanuts--”

“--and if we get thirsty?” Sungjin asks pointedly. “I suppose we could just go and drink the snow--”

“--hah,” Wonpil says. “I saw the thermos in the back! I know you, Senior Scout Park Sungjin. You’d never go anywhere without backup forms of hydration--”

“--fine well what if we need to pee?” Sungjin grins, triumphant, not sure why this argument started--their dynamic shuffling between their newfound ease and their age-old banter. “What’ll you do? Roll down the window and just spray it outside?”

“You’re disgusting.” Wonpil sighs, feigning exasperation but also unable to bite back a smile as he leans his head against the leather seat, turning to face Sungjin. His heart skips a beat watching the warm lights from the lamps outside as they light up Sungjin’s eyes, his smile. “What do you want to do then?” 

Sungjin feels his cheeks grow warm, his mind automatically going to that  _ thing _ that he’s wanted to do since they were in highschool, that thing that he’s thought of millions of times since he’d seen Wonpil standing in their living room that first day, since they had coffee after visiting his Mom’s grave--he’d thought about kissing Wonpil softly throughout numerous situations: watching sadness skim his face as he laid flowers down at his mother’s grave, watching Wonpil take a sip from his latte, walking with Wonpil at the park as the winter breeze shifter his soft hair, having a drink with Wonpil downtown, the alcohol lending a blush to his cheeks, listening to songs with Wonpil in his car, watching him play videogames on their couch, stroking his forehead all those years ago as Wonpil spilled his heart out to someone he mistook for his bestfriend. He clears his throat, glances down at his phone instead, checking the time. 

“Well. I’ve already texted Jungkook. He said he’s called the district for clean-up and they’ll be here in about an hour and a half cause of other drifts they clear out. So maybe we could--play a game?”

“Hrrrm,” Wonpil says thoughtfully, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know about you but I don’t usually keep board games in my pocket. And I was in such a rush I didn’t even bring my phone so unless it’s a game that two people can play on one phone--”

“--let’s play Twenty Questions,” Sungjin says. 

“What did I do to deserve someone whose idea of fun is litigation--”

“--who says you deserve me?”

“Deserve to be  _ trapped in a car with _ , I meant,” Wonpil says, pushing small punches onto the thick blanket in his lap.

“Ahhh, well,” Sungjin says. “I didn’t do anything to deserve being trapped in a car with someone who can’t seem to tell when I’m trying to get to know him better so--”

“--fine. Let’s play.” Wonpil hesitates. “How do we play?” 

“Simple. We take turns asking each other and we can’t lie.”

“How would you even police that?” Wonpil asks. “I could lie and you wouldn’t even know.” 

“Trust system,” Sungjin replies, shrugging. He finds himself leaning against the car seat too, suddenly aware of the fact that he and Wonpil are sharing the same blanket, that their knees are almost touching under the fabric.

“Huh,” Wonpil says softly, a mischievious glimmer in his eye. “So you trust me?”

“I guess I do.” 

“Hrrrm. Okay, then.” Wonpil says, playing with the hem of the blanket. “You start.” 

Sungjin meets Wonpil’s gaze. 

“Are you seeing anyone?” 

Wonpil shifts in his seat. “No. You?” 

Sungjin shakes his head, trying not to look too pleased with himself. “Your turn.”

“Hrrrm. Why did you move back home?” 

“I got jilted,” Sungjin says, smiling sadly. “I think that’s the first time I’ve said that like that. But yeah. I got jilted. My fiance left me for someone else and I only had two options--either go back to the apartment that we lived in and see everything: all of the plans for the wedding, our shared furniture, his clothes still littered everywhere knowing that he’d be back only to pick then up, or, you know, get on a plane and move back in with the Appas. So. I did what any sane man would do and abandon everything.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wonpil says softly. “I know everyone says that and I don’t know how it’s supposed to help but I mean it--you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Thank you,” Sungjin replies, a short pulse of pain shooting through his handsome face. It makes Wonpil’s heart hurt. “That means more than you know. My first thought was--was it my fault? Didn’t I treat him well enough? Wasn’t I attentive? Was I an idiot for trusting him?”

Wonpil shakes his head. “No. You know what, you control freak, you--there’s a line between what you can control and what you can’t, between other people’s actions and your own. You can only go so far. Most things people do to themselves.” 

“Hmmm. I suppose.” Sungjin smiles, nods slowly. “Why did  _ you  _ come home?” 

Wonpil hesitates, opens his mouth to say something and then reconsiders. 

“You don’t have to s--”

“--no,” Wonpil says. “No I should. I should. Trust system. Just promise that your opinion of me won’t change?”

“I’ve seen you drunk doing a backstroke on our muddy lawn,” Sungjin replies, rolling his eyes. “If I was going to change my mind about you, I would’ve done it a billion years ago.” 

“Well,” Wonpil begins. “I guess I have to start with why I left.” 

Sungjin frowns, nods. “Go on.” 

“I left because I was--I mean I thought I was in love with Jungkook.” Wonpil lets out a deep breath, looks up to check Sungjin’s expression: he’s calm but Wonpil sees what looks like a trace of hurt, a small flash of worry. “Um. Well--I mean, you know. I always thought that he was the bee’s knees. And can you blame me? He was the perfect guy in so many ways and I really measured my self-worth against him: how would someone like that like someone like me? How would someone like that ever look at me the way that I looked at him? The way that the girls, the guys at school looked at him? It was impossible. And I left because I felt like I needed space to be my own person, to measure myself against myself. Of course, you have to understand that the night I fell in love with him--well, that made me fall madly, insanely in love with him was prom night--”

“--oh my god, I’m so sorry, I ruined--”

“--don’t be. Just. Wait. I’m not yet done. I left because after prom night, it felt like I’d been pushed off the edge. That was the loneliest I remember being even if the feeling is all that I remember and he was there for me, he held me up, he gave me back to myself. I remember that feeling of being comforted, that feeling of being told that everything is going to be okay--and for once, it didn’t matter if things were going to be okay, it only mattered that he--well, you, turns out--believed they would be.” 

Wonpil pauses, wondering what to say next, very much aware of the tears starting to sting his eyes. 

“So I came home to atone for my guilt that when Eomma--well, you guys’ Eomma--passed away and I wasn’t here to keep him company, to comfort him, to pay her my respects, to give her son the same kindness that she--that all of you--have given me pretty much all my life.” 

Sungjin nods. “I see.”

“Are you mad?”

“No fair, it’s my turn."

“Sorry."

“Are you still in love with Jungkook?” Sungjin asks carefully and the silence in the car is like a breath held--a hope suspended between them like rope. 

Wonpil shakes his head slowly. “No. Not anymore.”

“Why--”

“--my turn,” Wonpil cuts him off. “Why didn’t you ever tell me it was you on prom night?” 

“You made me promise that we’d never talk about your confession again--I know it wasn’t meant for me, but I’ve always kept every secret I promised to keep.” 

Sungjin’s heart is pounding, now, his gaze meeting Wonpil’s. 

Wonpil blinks. “Your turn.” 

“How do you feel--I mean. Knowing that it was me. How do you feel about that?” 

“Grateful,” Wonpil says. “But also surprised--I always thought you hated me--but considering who you are, how you are, it makes sense that you’d do something like that--”

“--like what?”

“It’s not your turn.”

“It’s a follow up, doesn’t count.”

“Pick up the pieces and mend someone who needed it. You were always the responsible one, the smart one--I never pegged you to be the empathetic one but it also makes sense that you are. And when I thought about it again and again, it felt like--yeah, that does seem like something Park Sungjin would do.” Wonpil’s cheeks are burning now, his heart thudding in his chest. 

Sungjin nods. “It feels good to hear that.” 

“Why did you do it?” Wonpil’s voice is small, barely above a whisper. “Why did you take care of me?” 

It’s Sungjin’s turn to flush crimson. “Well. There are two reasons. The more honorable one which is that I’d do it for any of my brother’s friends--and then there’s the selfish one which is that I’ve always had a soft spot for you--”

“--a  _ soft  _ spot,” Wonpil repeats in disbelief. “You made fun of me every chance you got--”

“--you ever hear of  _ defense mechanisms _ , Pirrie Mirrie?” 

Wonpil feels himself swoon, the nickname all of a sudden no longer an insult, only an expression of fondness. Sungjin lets out a laugh, runs a hand through his hair. Wonpil loves the way that his fringe catches the light, the way it falls into his eyes. 

“I don’t think you remember,” Sungjin says, grinning a little at the memory. “No, I  _ know _ you don’t remember, but I told you that I had feelings for you that night--”

“--what--”

“--I was in love with you pretty much since fifth grade but it isn’t easy being--well, the way we are, in a place like this. So I teased and I made fun and eventually there wasn’t any way to back-pedal. And I thought prom would be perfect because we’d be dressed up, we’d be in another environment, there’d be that mood that proms tend to have--”

“--romance, you mean?” Wonpil remarks.

“Yeah,” Sungjin says, grinning. “Yeah, that. But there just wasn’t the right time and there was so much for me to do with the committee and before I knew it, you were barging into me after puking in the bathroom, asking me to take you home to our house because your mom would kill you so I did.” 

Wonpil nods, shuffles closer, his hand landing softly on Sungjin’s over the fabric of the blanket. Wonpil frowns, moves the cloth away, his hand finding Sungjin’s palm--it’s warm, he thinks. So warm. Sungjin doesn’t feel like he’s breathing, feels like his chest is too tight and the air is too thin and it’s suddenly too warm and Wonpil is too close and any moment he might explode into a million pieces.

“Can I kiss you?” Wonpil asks softly. 

Sungjin blinks once, twice. “It’s not your turn.”

Wonpil grins. “Yeah but can I?”

“Please--”

And with that, Wonpil closes the space between them, putting Sungjin’s hand on his waist before cupping Sungjin’s cheek and leaning in until their noses brush against each other, until they both let their eyes flutter shut, until he’s kissing him soft and slow. Sungjin’s heart is pounding in his chest as the kiss deepens, as lips part and tongues come flush against each other--at once lit with desire and tender with longing. Wonpil tastes like Christmas: like hot chocolate and marshmallows, salted pretzels and cinnamon sugar. Sungjin pulls Wonpil in closer, the gearshift the only thing getting in the way of scooping him up onto his lap. Wonpil can’t believe how much he loves the way that Sungjin feels--the width, the breadth of him, his grip tender but firm, his kisses sure and passionate. He puts his arms around Sungjin’s shoulders, thinks to himself that he could do this all night, could do this all his life. 

“--Jesus CHRIST--” 

They jolt apart, Sungjin letting out a surprised yelp as he sees Jungkook and the district officials knocking on the driver’s seat window, Jungkook’s eyes wide, his lips formed into an o-shape of shock. Wonpil bursts out laughing, waves Jungkook away, mouthing  _ give us a minute _ . They fold up the blanket, toss it in the back. Sungjin grins, turning back toward the windshield. He does a double-take, realizes that Wonpil’s still holding his hand. 

“You’re going to have to let me go so I can rev the engine.” 

Wonpil grins, lifting their joined hands toward the ignition. 

“Make me.”    
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me in the comments.


	5. Wild & Fluorescent, Come Home To My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The supercut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe as always, CC/twt- @teenuviel1227
> 
> Also, I’m currently open for commissions. If you’re interested you can find all the information here: https://goo.gl/ahbjHU

“Do you think we could just stay here forever?” Sungjin asks, brushing his nose against Wonpil’s. They’ve gotten back to the house, are in Sungjin’s room snuggling under the duvet, limbs intertwined: wool socks, denim jeans, fluffy Christmas sweaters pressed close--blue on pink, black on blue, red on white. Sungjin has an arm slung around Wonpil’s waist, holding him close. “I think we could survive on my stash of snacks--chips, candy, that kind of thing. Who needs nutritiou, right? Plus I have a bunch of Peanut Butter cups in my travel bag and we’ve got my thermos for water. That should be enough if we skimp.”

“If only,” Wonpil grins, planting a soft kiss on Sungjin’s lips. He traces the line between Sungjin’s brows with the tip of his finger, everything both familiar and new.  _ He’s so handsome.  _ He touches the shell of Sungjin’s ear, softly skims over the softness of his earlobe with his forefinger and thumb before he reaches back to ruffle the soft hair at the back of Sungjin’s nape. “I bet Jungkook’s telling everyone now. And soon, they’ll come barging up here, asking us questions, sticking their nose in everyone’s business.”

“Hrrrm.” Sungjin sighs, looking into Wonpil’s deep brown eyes, noticing for the first time that his gaze is slightly off-center, finding that somehow that only adds to his charm, only makes him more devastatingly good-looking. “So what do we tell them?” 

Wonpil smiles slowly, kissing the apples of Sungjin’s cheeks.

“That this is the best Christmas ever--”

Wonpil plants a soft kiss on the crease between Sungjin’s eyebrows.

“--and that I’d like to stay a bit longer after the holidays--” 

He kisses the tip of Sungjin’s nose. For a moment, they don’t say anything, just listen to the sound of hushed merriment downstairs (they hear Wonpil’s sister give out a loud squeal--both of them know that soon everyone is going to come barging up here, that soon this space that’s theirs and theirs alone will cease to be a sanctuary), resting in the cadence of each other’s breathing. 

“--we can tell them that years and years ago there was a lonely drunk kid on the lawn and he fell in love with the person who put him back together--” 

At that, Sungjin takes Wonpil’s hand and kisses his palm. This time, it’s Sungjin who pipes up.

“--that I missed my chance with the person I was in love with for most of my life once before and I’m not going to lose him again.” 

  
  


It’s all easier than both of them expect: when their family--their odd, offbeat, but well-meaning and loving family--finally come knocking, they answer the door dopey-grinned with their clothes snuggle-rumpled, hair mussed, and for a moment there really isn’t anything to say, everything there is to ask already apparent in their entwined hands, in the soft way that Sungjin lets Wonpil lean on him. They don’t explain, don’t tell anyone about the snow or prom or the way they’d slowly wound together with every shared cup of coffee, every drink shyly passed on, fingertips touching--instead, they let Wonpil’s mom and sister exchange knowing looks, let Mr. Park and Mr. Jeon grin wide and ask them if they want to borrow the cottage in Busan if they’re staying after the Holidays, let Jungkook make Wonpil-is-finally-going-to-be-my-brother jokes. 

The next days fly by in a rush of excitement, like a supercut played on slow-mo in a dark room: every morning is illuminated by Sungjin coming over to pick Wonpil up, the drive over to the diner or to the cafe nice and warm, the music turned up, both of them singing; every afternoon is lit up by Wonpil stroking Sungjin’s hair as he lies in Wonpil’s lap, half-asleep, soothed by the sound of Wonpil’s voice reading him poetry. And every night is set ablaze by the softest touch: a kiss deepening until they find their hands roaming--palms skimming under the hems of shirts, braving the cold to find a different kind of heat in each other’s touch, hips bucking as they chase more friction, fingers hurrying to undo buttons, to push at denim until they hold each other’s pleasure at their will, stroking slow and hard, letting mouths work at the heat, the passion, the release for as long as they’ll suffice (Wonpil likes the way that Sungjin moans, that he whimpers his name whenever his tongue flicks sure against the head of his pleasure, Sungjin likes the way that Wonpil’s hands turn into fists as he licks slow down the crease of his pelvis, loves the way that his name slips out from between Wonpil’s parted lips when he takes him into his mouth). But always, something gets in the way--one of their parents come knocking on the door asking them to dinner, Jungkook calls to let them know he’s on his way with Chicken so if they can please just stop before he gets there that’d be nice. 

Today they’re in Sungjin’s room, uninterrupted for once, already slick with each other’s spit, already negotiating the space on the bed to see how their bodies fit, already asking the question between them that they haven’t had the chance to iterate, the farthest that they’ve gone--the supplies sitting in the drawer by the bed, Wonpil pulling Sungjin in by the collar of his shirt to undo the buttons that have by some miracle remained in tact, Sungjin pushing at the hem of Wonpil’s sweater ( _ off, off, get it off) _ \--and then a loud pounding on the door. 

“Hyung? Pirrie? Dinner. And you guys can’t skip, I have important news,” Jungkook’s voice sounds strained, almost panicked. “Also. Um. Can you guys tone it down next time? I could still hear--um, even with headphones on so--”

“--Jesus,” Sungjin says, smirking as he sits up. “Fine! Give us a minute.” 

Wonpil leans back against the pillow, taking a deep breath. “I was so sure that’d finally be the time--” 

Sungjin grins, tosses Wonpil his underwear, his jeans. “Well. I was thinking--”

Jungkook pounds on the door again. “--I can still hear you--” 

“--we’ll meet you downstairs!” Sungjin yells. 

“But--”

“--go!”

There’s the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs. 

Wonpil rolls out of bed, does his best to smooth down his hair, to fix his sweater. Sungjin starts doing up his shirt, puts his jeans back on. 

“As I was saying,” Sungjin says. “I was thinking about the Appas’ offer--and what do you say? We could drive down to Busan, spend a few days on the coast, finally get some privacy.” 

Wonpil hesitates for a moment, thinks about that plane ticket for next Wednesday still sitting in his drawer, between the pages of his passport. He thinks of his apartment in San Francisco, his roommate, his job--everything seeming so far away now, everything seeming not just an ocean but a lifetime away, the trappings of a life that belongs to someone else.  _ But do we stay here? Where do we go from here?  _ He watches Sungjin run a hand through his hair, trying to get it to behave, watches his gaze meet his, his smile expectant, hopeful. 

Wonpil nods, decides that maybe some alone time is good for them, that maybe this conversation should be had another time. 

“Sure. I’d love that.” 

  
  


“That’s wonderful, Jungkook,” Mr. Jeon says, grinning as a very nervous Jungkook keeps his eyes on Wonpil, pushes his food around on his plate. “I think you should do it. We’ve been telling you for the past year that if anything like this comes up you should seize it--”

“--but what about you and Appa B--”

“--we’ll be fine,” Mr. Park pipes up. “Like we’ve been telling you for the longest time, it’s about time that we went home to Busan anyway. Incheon was always your mother’s city and--”

“--why is everyone acting like I’m not here?” Sungjin asks. “I can take care of the Appas. Why am I suddenly not a factor in this equation?”

Silence settles over the dining room. 

“Well,” Jungkook says carefully. “I think we all know that you’ve always been the more restless one. And let’s face it, this isn’t exactly the most progressive place--I don’t think I’d ever see you staying here for long and now that you and Pirrie--” 

“--look,” Wonpil says slowly. “I know this isn’t technically my business but I think that we all need to respect each other’s boundaries. I understand we all want to help but maybe we should think about how sometimes being selfish can be the more selfless thing. If Kookie wants to leave and Sungjin wants to stay, why is that so hard for us to process? And if they both want to go and the Appas want to head home, would it really be so bad?” 

Sungjin squeezes Wonpil’s hand under the table--a thank you, a question. 

_ Will you stay with me?  _

“We don’t have to decide anything for now,” Mr. Park says, putting his paper towel down. “But Jungkook should definitely put in the reservation fee for the hospital. We should start working on the papers.”

“I agree.” Mr. Jeon nods. “But Kook has a point too, Sungjin. We don’t want you to use us as an excuse to stay--”

“--but Appa--”

“--we’ll talk about it again after you and Pirrie get back from the coast,” Mr. Park says. “You boys have a good time, enjoy each other, enjoy the beach. Then we can talk about all of this who’s moving where nonsense.” 

Sungjin blinks, watches his father take off his glasses and rest them on his head, a gesture that Sungjin knows to mean that the discussion is over for now. It occurs to Sungjin for the first time just how old his dad looks, how small and weathered in comparison to himself and Jungkook, how they’re now the people set to make decisions for all of them and fear creeps into his heart like a serpent swimming just under dark, murky water. He thinks of his mom, thinks of her warmth and her smile and wonders if he will ever have enough of her in him to give off that much love. 

“Okay, Appa,” Sungjin says. 

Under the table, Wonpil squeezes his hand.

_ I’m here. We’re in this together.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LOT of fluff and smut in the next chapter. Please anticipate. <3


	6. Slow Motion, I’m Watching Our Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days on the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of smut. And also diabetes-inducing fluff.
> 
> Hehe as always, CC/twt- @teenuviel1227
> 
> Also, I’m currently open for commissions. If you’re interested you can find all the information here: https://goo.gl/ahbjHU

“Is this the one?” Wonpil asks, peering up through the windshield as Sungjin drives up to the house that sits right on the beach. It’s old, the age of the place apparent in the uneven way that the varnish sits on the white-painted wood, the way that the nails bored into the front door to hold the dreamcatcher that flutters in the wind has tarnished into a peculiar shade of green-gray, but it’s charming nonetheless and bigger than Wonpil expected. There are some chairs on the porch which would be perfect for breakfast in the mornings if they’d come anytime that wasn’t in the dead of winter, there’s a grill which be great for cooking dinner while watching the sunset. Even from here, Wonpil can see that inside the windows are huge, overlooking the ocean. “It’s so quaint.”

“Yup. It’s old and kind of creaky but functional and very, very cozy,” Sungjin says as they get out of the car, start unloading their backpacks, the cooler of food and drinks they’d brought along, the bag containing the convenience store supplies that they’d stopped for on the way (Wonpil found it cute how Sungjin had come back from the store blushing, unable to meet Wonpil’s gaze as he handed him the white plastic bag).

“Is this where the Appas plan to retire to if ever?” Wonpil asks as they haul everything up to the front door.

“Yup,” Sungjin nods, unlocking the front door and swinging it open. “At the very least--I mean, if we decide to leave--I’d like to renovate it for them or at least try and patch up everything that needs patching up.”

“I could help you with that,” Wonpil says, dragging their things into the living room. He looks around, smiles. The furniture is classic--a little worn but clean, the sofa cushions plump and fluffy, an old throw making everything inviting. Sungjin turns on the electricity, the heat, the water pressure. “I don’t know shit about construction but I could help you call people, that sort of thing.”

“I’d love that,” Sungjin says, smiling.

Wonpil looks around at the bags. “Should we unpack?”

Sungjin walks over, puts his arms around Wonpil’s waist and kisses him long and slow--letting the tips of his fingers slip just beneath the hems of Wonpil’s sweater. He brushes his nose against Wonpil’s as they pull apart.

“How about I show you the bedroom first?’   


 

“So this is the--” Sungjin lets out a yelp of surprise as Wonpil pushes him onto the bed. They land with a small puff, the mattress springing beneath them.

Wonpil laughs before straddling Sungjin, leaning down to kiss him, licking softly into his mouth as he sets his hips to work--bucking them ever so slightly until he feels Sungjin’s pulse quicken, feels his breath start to hitch as he writhes beneath him. Sungjin rubs at Wonpil’s crotch through the fabric of his jeans, eager to repay the pleasure, to help heighten the need for more friction. Wonpil arches his back. Sungjin undoes the button, the zipper of his jeans, pushes them off of Wonpil’s hips before rubbing him through the fabric of his boxers. A bead of precum stains the front of his boxers.

“God, Pirrie--you’re so--” Sungjin’s breath hitches as Wonpil leans down to lick at the lobe of Sungjin’s ear.

“--horny for you?” Wonpil supplies, letting his lips brush against the hollow of Sungjin’s neck.

“Jeez yeah well--” Sungjin says, struggling for words as Wonpil kisses down his neck, unbuttoning Sungjin’s shirt until it hangs open. Sungjin can’t get over how beautiful Wonpil looks like this: all honey skin and deep eyes, mouth slick with spit from kissing. He watches as Wonpil sucks softly on the skin of his chest, leaving the faintest bruises before he goes to lick at Sungjin’s soft skin until it puckers under his tongue. “Oh my god--”

Wonpil grins, kissing his way down Sungjin’s torso, his pelvis, undoing the button of his jeans before pulling them off. Sungjin’s half-hard, his boxers already a tent about to be fully pitched. Wonpil softly palms him through the fabric before letting his lips ghost over the outline of Sungjin’s erection. Sungjin’s hands grasp the sheets and Wonpil tugs his boxers off before taking Sungjin into his mouth and going slow, letting the tip linger pressed to the roof of his throat before moving back, licking at the underside of Sungjin’s cock before releasing him and taking him back in.

Sungjin lets out a moan as Wonpil draws figure-eights on the insides of his thighs.

“Oh fuck--Pil--wait--if you keep going, I’ll cum--"

Wonpil lets off, then. “--sorry. I got carried away. It’s just--you’re so damn hot--”

Sungjin laughs, scoops Wonpil up into his arms, and moves back until he has his back against the headboard and Wonpil’s sitting across his lap. Slowly, he peels off Wonpil’s sweater, his jeans, his boxers, throwing them into a pile on the floor. He leans down, kisses Wonpil slowly, letting their tongues lap against each other before he lifts his palm up to Wonpil’s mouth. He whispers softly in his ear--gentle but firm.

“Lick.”

Wonpil grins, does as he’s told, licks at Sungjin’s palm until it’s slick--and then Sungjin is stroking him maddeningly close, letting the head of his cock grow flush against the flesh of his palm--Wonpil’s fully hard almost instantly, a whining mess in Sungjin’s arms. He kisses Sungjin eagerly, bucking his hips up into Sungjin’s palm, eager for friction.

Sungjin kisses his neck, sucks slow but hard, leaves the thin skin there to bruise.

Wonpil puts a hand over Sungjin’s, staying his hand. “I don’t want to cum like this--”

Sungjin grins, lets his gaze hold Wonpil’s for a moment longer. He nods. “--how do you want to do this?”

Wonpil grins, coquettish as he reaches for the the lube, the condoms. Slowly, he starts to slick Sungjin up--stroking him until he’s throbbing, until he’s all but yelling Wonpil’s name. He moves to roll the condom onto Sungjin’s cock before warming lube up on his palms and slathering it around his entrance.

Sungjin looks up at Wonpil as Wonpil straddles him. He puts a hand on the small of Wonpil’s back. “Let me open you up, baby.”

Sungjin takes the bottle from Wonpil, coats two fingers in lube before slowly letting his fingertips ghost against Wonpil’s entrance, waiting for the bloom and then slowly letting his fingers slip in, out. Wonpil moans against Sungjin’s lips, bringing himself down on Sungjin’s fingers and letting himself breathe deep until he feels the stretch ease. He bucks his hips, savors the feeling of pain giving way to pleasure.

“I’m ready--”

“--sure?” Sungjin pulls his fingers out but pauses, searches Wonpil’s face for any traces of pain.

Wonpil nods before guiding Sungjin softly toward the wetness of his hole. “Fuck me, baby.”

And Sungjin does as he’s told--he pushes into Wonpil, both of them moaning from the pleasure, the feeling of each other. Sungjin marvels at how warm, how wet and slick Wonpil is, how tight around him as he holds his cheeks open and fucks into him. Wonpil arches his back, his whole body in rapture over all of the sensations, the fact that Sungjin fills him up so well, the fact that the tip of Sungjin’s cock brushes against his prostate again and again, sending thrills of electricity down his spine, the fact that now Sungjin is using one hand to hold Wonpil close enough to lick at his nipples, the other stroking his cock slow as he leaks pre-cum all over Sungjin’s hand.

They go slow and hard--until neither of them can bear it and Wonpil bucks his hips harder, his voice cracking as Sungjin fucks into him faster and faster still until Wonpil creams between them, his cum spilling hot and thick. Sungjin takes that as a cue and lets himself go crazy, holds Wonpil down by the hips and chases his orgasm, fucking into him until he cums into the comdom in a thrash of ecstasy.

“Fuck,” Wonpil says after Sungjin goes limp inside him, both of them sated and sweaty. “That was--”

Sungjin kisses him softly, holding him close. “--thank you, Pirrie. You were so good.”

Wonpil feels his cheeks heat up. He rubs his nose softly against Sungjin’s. “Right back atcha.”

  


The days by the beach pass in a haze of love-making--in the shower, on the kitchen counter as they’re trying to decide what to have for breakfast, on the couch after they get back in from taking a freezing walk by the beach, countless more times in the bedroom--and warm cuddles, both of them staying up well into the wee hours talking about life, their plans, the places that they want to go, and falling asleep mid-sentence. They spend the evenings having heart meals and polishing off bottles of wine until they’re sleepy and restless at the same time: mouths finding mouths, hands slipping under clothing. They let themselves wake up late in the mornings, let themselves linger in bed, finding comfort against the warmth of each other until the pale winter sun slips itself under the blinds.

By the time that their last day on the coast rolls around, some time between dozing off against Sungjin’s chest and watching the sun slip into the bedroom, Wonpil makes up his mind. He smiles, watching Sungjin sleep a moment longer before waking him, before the candor and abandon of slumber are given up for the carefulness of waking.

“Baby,” Wonpil whispers.

“PirrieMirrie?” Sungjin asks, cracking an eye open. “You okay?”

Wonpil nods. “Yeah. There’s something I have to tell you though.”

Sungjin sits up in bed. “What is it?”

“I think we should stay.”

Sungjin blinks, trying to process what Wonpil is saying. “What do you mean?”

Wonpil gestures between them. “I mean--I could play the piano anywhere. _This_ is worth staying for, I think. The Appas might want to move here but we could stay in Incheon and drive over every weekend and make sure that everything’s--”

Sungjin cuts him off with the most tender of kisses. He brushes Wonpil’s hair away from his eyes, taking a moment to bask in their love, in the moment.

“--I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” Wonpil grins, lies back down. “Let’s go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you.”

“You sleep,” Sungjin says. “I’m too giddy. I’ll make breakfast.”

Wonpil reluctantly lets Sungjin go, giving him a last squeeze before letting him push the covers aside and get out of bed. He’s about to walk out the door when Wonpil calls him back.

“Sungjin?”

“Mmmm?”

“I love you too.”


	7. In My Head, I Do Everything Right / Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! Sorry this epilogue took so long but I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> <3 CC/twt- @teenuviel1227

“He’s here!” Wonpil bellows from where he’s setting up the Christmas tree as he hears the taxi pull up to the house. He jumps up, loops the string of sparkly, red faux-holly around his shoulders like a shawl instead. 

In the kitchen, Sungjin turns off the tap, sets down the bowl of lettuce that he’d been washing and doesn’t bother to take off his plastic gloves, his apron. He taps softly on the door of the guest room where AppaBunny is taking a nap. 

“He’s here!” 

He grins as he hears AppaBunny’s  _ alright, alright  _ come in through the door.

At that, AppaBear peeks in from the dirty kitchen where he’s getting the grill ready, fanning the coals. He and AppaBunny have driven down from the house on the coast where they’ve moved, are staying with Wonpil and Sungjin at the house in Incheon for the week--they’d fixed up the old study into a guestroom for AppaBunny and AppaBear had insisted on taking the couch. Although Sungjin and Wonpil had insisted on taking care of the outdoor grill, he’d also insisted on doing it himself, for old time’s sake.

He still has traces of soot on his hands, his cheeks when he steps into the kitchen. 

“Took him long enough."

There’s the sound of rustling as all of them struggle to put on their padded coats, knowing that they’ll all be heading out despite the cold.

Wonpil grins, pushes the screen door open and grins at the sight of his bestfriend, his brother-in-law, as he gets out of the cab. He’s a little older, stands a little taller, walks a little surer, trading his hometown charm for a little big city swagger, but is the same: charming grin, eyes bright as he pops the trunk open and pulls out his suitcases. 

Snow falls softly onto the lawn.

Christmas carols drift in from the house behind them.

Wonpil feels his fondness overflow in his heart as he feels Sungjin come up behind him, arm coming to automatically around Wonpil’s waist. He thinks of the past year: how everything had fallen into place, how both of them had rebuilt their home, their sense of family with each other, how despite this being one of the coldest winters recorded, everything feels warmer, cozier than ever. Sungjin slips a hand into the pocket of Wonpil’s coat.  _ Maybe sometimes settling down doesn’t mean being held down.  _ Sungjin kisses the shell of Wonpil’s ear and Wonpil shivers. 

“He’s all grown up,” AppaBunny says, clapping Sungjin on the shoulder.

“That he is,” Appa Bear agrees, looping his arm through the crook of Wonpil’s. “I’d say we all did a pretty good job.” 

“The best,” Sungjin corrects.

Jungkook looks at them, grins as the cab drives off. 

He opens his mouth to speak but Wonpil beats him to it. 

“Well, well, look what the cat finally dragged in.” 


End file.
